


We Ride or Die Tonight

by makesme-free (imjaebumism)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 7x10, Fluff, Gushiness and feels, M/M, On the Run, general disarray that comes together because gallavich, idk why i wrote this just had to get it all out after last night, seasonal canon, what happens in mexico
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imjaebumism/pseuds/makesme-free
Summary: "Ian was on the run with Mickey Milkovich, escaped convict, and his accomplice and yet he felt like he's never made a better decision in his life. He's never felt so sure."Micky and Ian in Mexico, because the season ended last night for me.





	1. R.O.D

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse my excessive use of commas.

They're on the run, driving past "Welcome to" signs and "Thanks for visiting" ones too, marking their path along the way, every one reminding Ian that he did this, he really did. He left everything, his family, his job, his- Trevor. And he couldn't find a bone in his body that rang with regret, couldn't think of any other choice he could've made because Mickey's sitting next to him driving, one hand on the wheel confident and sure, and the other on Ian's thigh, warm and possibly the only thing keeping Ian grounded and he would never have forgiven himself if he didn't give this a chance again. 

Mickey's accomplice is lying down across the back seat, oblivious to the world as the highway lights illuminate Mickey's face whenever they drive past one. Ian hasn't been able to stop staring at him, wonder if he's real. They haven't talked about anything, about what went on before Mickey had gotten thrown into jail, when they- when he... or the times that Ian's visited Mickey, stared at him through the glass, listen to him breathing through the receiver and never said a fucking word. They never exchanged a word and it was perfectly fine. Sometimes Ian couldn't figure out how they worked. He couldn't understand how they could be so good together and so good for each other, yet at the same time be the complete opposite. 

Ian was on the run with Mickey Milkovich, escaped convict, and his accomplice and yet he felt like he's never made a better decision in his life. He's never felt so sure. 

"Are you gonna stop staring at me like one of those creepy fucking Annabelle dolls or what?" Mickey asks, flickering his eyes from the road for a second to raise an eyebrow at Ian. Ian smiles, his eyes never leaving Mickey's face. 

"I'm sorry." His says quietly and he says it with more conviction than he'd meant to and he hopes that Mickey gets that he's not just apologizing for not being able to keep his eyes off of the guy he fell for when he was fifteen and stupid, who he still loves now when he's nineteen and a little less stupid. He hopes Mickey gets that he's apologizing for everything, everything he'd put Mickey through before, the grief the wrath, the uncertainty, the pain. He's sorry for all of that and so much more and he wonders if Mickey gets that. 

Mickey's eyes are on the road and they pass a sign that welcomes them into Texas, don't mess with Texas. His fingers tighten on Ian's thigh minutely, but Ian feels it through his entire being and he lifts his own hand and places it on top of Mickey's allowing his heat to diffuse through him faster, more welcoming. 

Mickey gets it. 

-

Damon fucks off somewhere when they stop for the night, somewhere by the border, Ian doesn't care to know where. They've got a van now and Ian and Mickey are splayed out on the floor in the back, naked, lying on their sides staring at each other. 

"You gonna keep starin' at me like a creepy Annabelle doll?" Ian says but he's quiet, even as he smiles and finds pleasure in the smile he gets in return. He doesn't want to break this bubble they have around them, the one where they're all that matters and they both feel safe, special, wanted, loved. He wants to keep this forever, bottle it and keep it where he can always see it, always relive it. 

"I'll stop when you stop," Mickey says gruffly, and Ian's tracing the tattoos on his fingers, keeping the moment soft and tender. 

"I can't." 

"Then I won't." 

Mickey's done all the talking since they've met again, all the silence filling, the feeling sharing and it's thrown their entire dynamic on its head. The one where Ian is the one that can't shut up, the first to blurt out his feelings. Mickey hasn't been able to stop thinking about him, has got Ian under his skin, has missed him. With all the Mickey has done, shared, Ian knows that Mickey still loves him, even if those words haven't been shared, he knows because he can feel it, the warmth that grows from the pit of his stomach and reaches towards his heart, makes him feel cared for. 

Ian hasn't shared as much though. He showed up against his better judgement when he had the choice, chose Mickey, up and left with Mickey. He wonders if that's enough. 

Ian's eyes are green, warm and inviting, reminiscent of spring foliage and they meet Mickey's blue and cold, icy but Ian finds the most comfort in the colored irises, drowning in them- letting himself be pulled into them so so deep and he loves it. 

His hand comes up to rest on Mickey's cheek and he pulls himself close, pulls them together and slants their lips together, relishing in the familiar taste of Mickey on his tongue, sweet, succulent, and completely irresistible. Ian never wants to stop, and once Mickey melts against him, welcomes Ian's tongue into his mouth, his hands on Mickey's body, searching, committing to memory, he feels like he never has to. 

They're so close after a while that Ian forgets they're two different people, distinct and complete individuals. It's always been like that with Mickey, feeling like he was part of a whole when they were together, not an entity of his own that could live without Mickey. He never wanted to live without Mickey, and he's convinced now that maybe he wasn't living before Mickey came back and he just didn't know it yet.

"Missed you, Mick." Ian breathes against Mickey's lips after a bit, their bodies flush, their breaths mingling. "I missed you so much."

Mickey smiles, pressing it against Ian's mouth, enjoying, reveling. And it's so perfect that Ian hopes this night never ends and he rolls on top of Mickey, their bodies slotting together like the right piece to a puzzle and Ian's never felt so fucking whole with anybody else. 

"Missed you, too, Firecrotch." Mickey replies back, "missed your red fucking hair, your stupid fucking questions. Probably missed your huge ass dick the most, though." He groans when said huge ass dick starts to enter him where he's already slick and open and ready from before. Completely ready. 

Ian laughs and it comes out sounding blissful, "wanna keep you here forever." Mickey continues, "I wanna keep you with me forever, Ian."

Ian shudders as he completely enters Mickey, his body taking him in like nothing, like it was ready for Ian before a conscious decision was even made and Ian lives for it. He kisses Mickey again, feeding off his words and giving it back the only way he knows how with them, they're golden for this, this part is so fucking easy. He'd never thought he'd have more of an issue with words than Mickey, this feels like the Twilight Zone. 

"Love you, Ian. I love you so fucking much, fuck." Mickey stammers out, tongue tripping over itself as Ian fucks into him, turns him inside out, completely unravels him and he sounds like it, but he loves it anyway. Mickey keeps saying those words as Ian fucks him, hips moving, bodies moving, time stopping. He sears the words into Ian's skin as he holds Ian against him, close, safe, cared for. He repeats them against Ian's kisses like a broken record and he comes with them on the tip of his tongue and they taste like sweetness with a pleasant aftertaste and Ian never wants to stop. He doesn't have to. "Love you, I love you. Don't stop, please. I love you." 

Mickey doesn't want him too.

-

They ditch the van and Ian doesn't say it but he's kind of sad to see it go. 

Somewhere between last night and now they made it to Mexico, don't ask Ian had they got through the border, he'd been asleep in the back of the Camero they stole, completely oblivious until the car stopped moving and Mickey woke him up with gentle, tattooed fingers and he shook himself from the grogginess. 

Damon had connections, pulled some strings and found them a place to stay in the city somewhere. The apartment wasn't much, two bedrooms and a bathroom down a narrow hallway in the back, a kitchen and a small living room area right when you opened the door. It wasn't much but it was functional, practicality in the face of all the impulsiveness Ian was gone through the past couple of days. The smaller room of the two holds a double bed and a dresser so it isn't too bad, definitely livable. The water from the sinks wasn't brown, got warm. Ian had Mickey, he couldn't complain. 

"Hey uh-," Mickey follows Ian into one of the rooms, putting his backpack down in the corner and rubbing at his freshly shaven face with his rough fingers. He looks uncomfortable but he pushes forward and asks what he was meant to anyway, "you got your meds? Are you taking them, or- are there things that you, uh-,"

He trails off and Ian smiles crookedly, bag dropping to the floor as he walks towards where Mickey is standing by the door, hands resting on his hips, "I got enough for about two weeks."

Mickey looks up at him, blue melting against green and he nods, resting his hands on Ian's neck, the side of his face, "okay. I'll get you some more just- lemme see the bottles when you got time. I'll figure somethin' out."

Ian doesn't answer, not verbally. He leans down, closing the distance between them and closing his eyes before they kiss, breathing in each other and finding the comfort and care that's so familiar on Ian's part, Mickey's tongue sweet. 

His phone rings in his pocket and it distracts them, pulling them away from each other and diverting their attention. 

It's been a couple days and he's surprised his phone hasn't pooped out yet, it's been on vibrate until recently and looking down at it now, he sees missed calls from Fiona, his job, Trevor... it's ringing again and Trevor's name flashes across the screen. He shuts off the phone and looks up to find Mickey staring at Ian's hands, face indecipherable. 

"Wanna tell me bout him?" Mickey asks gently and Ian shakes his head immediately because he knows that Mickey doesn't mean that. He doesn't want to hear about Trevor. Ian drops his phone to the ground, not intentionally, but it slips from his fingers. He doesn't care about the resounding sound of glass cracking as he takes Mickey's hand in his and pulls him close, walking them backwards to the bed and sitting down at the end of it, pulling Mickey between his legs. 

"He doesn't matter."

"He's your boyfriend." Mickey reminds, the word 'boyfriend' forcing his face to contort like he's eaten something sour. 

Shaking his head some more, Ian tugs on Mickey's arms, pulling him down, kissing him gently but being thorough. "Doesn't matter," he mumbles against Mickey's lips, pulling him back and kissing him some more, sliding their tongues together, both of them responding to the others touches and movements like it's second nature. 

-

It isn't easy and it's not completely sunsets and long walks on the beach, though Ian and Mickey did have their fair share of that. 

It's grit and it's hiding, it's hard at times and Ian sometimes sinks and wonders if he did the right thing. If this is what they really want. 

"They'll stop looking for me in time, fat fucks," Mickey says to the dark as they're laying in their bed. It's too hot, even with the sun gone, for covers so they lay there, naked and staring at each other as they're want to do and this part is easy. Ian can do this part forever. "They'll give up and we'll be able to go back."

Ian nods, squirming in the bed until he's up against Mickey, head resting on his chest. It's hot and their skin sticks together with the humidity but it's not uncomfortable because it's them. Ian and Mickey. 

"Love you, Mick." Ian says finally, when he thinks Mickey is asleep because it's been some time and he hasn't been moving much, hasn't said a word. 

Ian's wrong though and right when the words leave his lips, Mickey shifts, making himself comfortable under Ian's body as his fingers run through Ian's hair, pushing back the red strands away from his face. "Love you too, Ian. Always."


	2. Take Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meds that Mickey got Ian are starting to run their course and Mickey hopes it's not reminiscent of before.

Ian wakes up sometimes like he's looking through clouds, a sea of them obscuring his vision and leaving him feeling like he couldn't lift his arms, they were so heavy. 

"Pablo's been up my fuckin' ass with these deliveries. Actin' like I ain't got better shit to do like, fuck-," Mickey comes back into the room from what Ian could only assume was the bathroom, pulling a shirt over his head and running tattooed fingers through his wet hair. He's got his back to Ian as he's putting on some deodorant and spraying on the cheap cologne they got from an old lady down the street for a couple of pesos. He turns around when he doesn't get a response from Ian. "Hey, what's up?"

Ian sits up, stacking the pillows behind his back as he leans back against them. He feels like he's moving in slow motion or through layers of sludge that makes moving harder, every bit of his fingers twitching feeling like he was lifting a ton. "Nothing, what you gonna do about Pablo?"

"Gotta do what he says." Mickey peers at him curiously, walking towards where Ian's laying in their bed among the blankets and pillows. He crawls up on all fours, stopping just short of straddling Ian as he looks like he's in the process of figuring something out, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing- I mean. I'm feeling a bit hazy but, it's fine. Probably just need to walk around a bit." Ian mumbles. Mickey narrows his eyes at Ian and it's obvious that he knows Ian is shitting him. He raises an eyebrow and then his expression drowns in concern. 

"Is it the meds?"

Mickey had gotten around to getting him a cocktail that matched the set he was last prescribed, has lasted him the last couple of months but it seemed to be running its course. "Mmh, probably. There's not really a set therapy for what I got."

"Are you- do you feel like you did... before?" Mickey asks eyes tracing Ian's face carefully like he's committing something to memory. 

Ian shakes his head, going straight for Mickey's concern and trying to appease him. "No- not like before. Never like that again, I hope." 

Sighing, Mickey climbs onto Ian's lap, hands on his shoulders to steady himself as they meet eyes, green and blue melting into each other and all that. The warmth flowing through each other like it's nothing. "I'll get you something else, see if we could make it work."

Ian's hands rest on Mickey's hips, fingers rubbing at Mickey's muscles through his shirt. They'd grown more defined since he'd come back from jail, his normal soft, pudginess exchanged for firm hills and valleys of muscle and tendons. "Okay."

"And. Those burgers you like from that place down the street. Get you some shit from there too, bring it back for dinner." Mickey continues, running his fingers through Ian's hair, hands framing Ian's face. 

Ian chuckles, holding onto a smile because he knows that Mickey would like it- even though it feels like he's trying to hold an entire house up with one finger. He keeps it going. "Sounds good."

"Mickey! Gotta get goin, man." Damon yells from the living room and Mickey glances back at the direction of his voice before focusing on Ian again. 

"You gonna be good here by yourself? I could tell Damon to-,"

"You tryin to call out of work, risk Pablo slicing your ass off an roasting it on an open fire while you watch?" Ian says incredulously, smirking at Mickey. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Mickey's lips, sighing into it when Mickey leans into him, welcoming it without even thinking about it, "go. Go to work, I'll be fine. I like your ass when it's attached to your body, remember that."

"Mickey!"

"Fuck! I'm fucking coming okay? Calm the fuck down!" Mickey yells out to Damon, forehead falling onto Ian's shoulder as he takes a second to pull in a deep breath before climbing off of Ian. "Alright. I'll bring your meds later, text me if you need anything, okay?" He places a kiss on Ian's cheek that Ian feels tingling even as Mickey's pulled away and is walking towards the door. "Love you."

"I know, Mick. Love you, too." Ian replies, sinking back into the sheets as Mickey spares him one last glance and closes the door behind him, leaving him for the day. 

-

A couple months haven't been so bad. Despite the entire meds shitting out on him, they'd been happy, oblivious, in their own little bubble that Ian had no intention of bursting out of any time soon. 

He liked it here. Liked the heat, though his poor ginger ass didn't do so well in the sun. He liked their apartment, there was a small little Mexican lady that lived just next door that was teaching him Spanish and he'd spend most of his time sitting on her balcony with her, eating quesadillas that she'd made and trying to make sense of the stories that she was telling him with what little he could understand. 

Mickey works and Ian just kind of sits around but he doesn't think he's ever felt bored and he certainly wouldn't say that he ever regretted this decision. He had Mickey at nights, got to fall asleep to the rhythmic sound of his heart beating, the rise and fall of his chest from his regular breaths and Ian was happy. Mickey made him happy. 

Today, he couldn't really do much- only finding the will to force himself out of bed long enough to trudge over to the bathroom and relieve his bladder once it was seconds away from bursting. For the rest of the time that Mickey was gone, he just laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling weighed down by the air around his body. It felt like it took effort for him to blink.

Fucking meds and their ability to fuck things up just as much as they corrected it. 

He has no idea what time it is when he hears cursing and banging coming from the living room. Mickey's hounding on someone, probably Damon, and then it stops and Mickey's footsteps resound as they walk down the short hallway to their room. 

"Ian, got you a burger, fries and a fucking milkshake to dip them in because you're fucking ridiculous and a weirdo." The door bangs as Mickey kicks it open, and he's got a handful of greasy food that Ian's stomach immediately growls for. Mexican's attempt at making American food was actually pretty fucking spot on. "How you feelin?"

"Mmh," Ian groans, pushing himself up to sit and make grabby hands at the food. 

Mickey chuckles, throwing his shoes off and sitting on the bed to hand the bag to Ian, placing the cup on the nightstand by their bed. Ian's unwrapping the burger and he wonders if he's moving as slow as it feels like he is as he moves his arms up to take a bite into the greasy goodness. 

He's halfway through the meal and he doesn't even bat an eye at Mickey's eyes carving holes into the side of his face. Mickey shuffles for a bit, throwing another bag onto Ian's lap, short on the greasy variety. It's a see through ziplock, four prescription bottles sans labels staring back up at him. 

"We'll try these on for size, lemme know if they stop workin again, kay?" Mickey mumbles and Ian wipes his hands with a couple of napkins, reaching down to pick up the bag and look through the contents of the bottles. "I've been reading some shit and you're supposed to be living a healthy lifestyle and shit with the meds. Balance shit out so that you feel better. Probably not helpin by giving you a gigantic fucking burger and leaving you in bed all day. Fuck."

"M'fine, Mick." Ian says back. He opens up a couple of bottles, throws back a couple of pills and sips at the milkshake that Mickey hands to him- straw and all. "Thank you. For everything."

"S'nothing. S'pose to be takin care of you." 

"You do take care of me."

"I wish I'dve noticed that they weren't workin' before."

"I only just noticed this morning. It's not like it's been happening for weeks. You do take care of me, Mick. You've always taken care of me." Ian packages up the rest of his food, putting it off to the side and turning to face Mickey. 

"I'll get you some gay healthy shit to eat. Like salads, lettuce- or carrot sticks."

"Alright Mick," Ian says because he knows he can't get the thought out of Mickey's head after it's already sprouted. 

Mickey sighs, reaching up to cup Ian's cheek, fingers gripping at the skin of his neck as his hand sinks down. "I got you something else."

Ian revels in the warmth of their point of contact, wanting to scream when suddenly it's gone. "C'mon. Gotta move your lazy ass to see what it is."

"All we've been doing today is talking about asses, have I been missing something?" Ian groans as Mickey walks around the bed and holds out a hand, smirk on his face. His infuriatingly pretty face. 

Ian grabs his hand and let's himself be pulled, grumbling behind Mickey as they walk out of the room. He was feeling a bit better, the haze lifting, still crowding around his head but at least he didn't feel like holding up his own body weight was such a burden. "What'd you get me now? Didn't get you anything."

"No shit," Mickey snorts and he probably rolls his eyes too but Ian can't see it. "So like, exercising and shit. Keeping your body busy, staying fit. That helps with the bipolar, supplements the meds? Well, here." He gestures out into the living room with the hand that isn't holding onto Ian's and Ian looks up, eye flitting around the room and landing on the huge piece of machinery that's suddenly in the corner of their small communal space. 

"A treadmill?"

"Right by the window so you could stare at the dirty fucks that walk past it everyday while you're working that ass." Mickey smiles, clearly proud of himself and it's contagious, pulling a smile from the shelf of Ian's mind, out of the caverns. 

"When do I get to work your ass?" Ian asks, raising a ginger eyebrow at Mickey. 

"When your limp dick could get it up as long as I need it to." Mickey says, scratching at the side of his head, "So? You like?"

"I love, thank you." Ian gathers Mickey's smaller form into his arms, placing a kiss against his forehead. 

"You're fucking welcome, you shit." 

Ian chuckles and he pulls Mickey closer, breathing in the familiar smell of cigarettes, their dollar store shampoo and cheap cologne, a conglomerate that never fails to remind him of Mickey and smooth out his frayed edges. 

"What the fuck were you saying about my dick?"

"Oh, what? You mean the limp noodle you've been keeping in your pants?" Mickey swats at Ian's crotch and Ian scoots back before he could land a blow, arms tightening around Mickey's neck. 

"I'll show you a limp noodle, little fuck. Come over here." Mickey tries to wrestle his way out of Ian's grip but Ian holds fast, finding a way to drag Mickey back into their room, kicking the door shut behind them as the fumble onto their bed, laughing the entire way there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk what this is. But the whole Mickey and Ian in Mexico thing is killing me and i want them to have their own little life away from everything trying to rip them apart. So if you agree. Lemme know haha


	3. Faithfully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beach, apologies, gentle boyfriends.

The sun is hot on his skin, beating down relentlessly and he knows he should’ve been ready for this, he’d coated on about an entire bottle of suntan lotion on his body to keep from going red like a fucking lobster, but he still felt like he was burning alive.

“Why the fuck are we at the beach again?” Ian asks, squinting at the sun through his cheep pair of sunglasses. Sand inserting itself in any possible crack in his body, every indent. The sun completely destroying his skin, salty sea water that left his throat scratchy.

Maybe the beach wasn't his thing.

Mickey finally gets a towel laid out and Ian is taking in their surroundings, theres only a few patrons strolling on the shore like, the azure waters sparkling with every ray from the sun bouncing off of it’s glistening surface. Ian’s eyes finally land on Mickey, his pale skin standing out just as much as Ian’s, anybody who looked at them for a second would know that they were so totally out of their element, but Mickey seemed content, his swim trunks on, hair slicked back save for a single strand that cut across his forehead Clark Kent style and the wide rimmed sunglasses that took up half his face.

Ian felt his abdomen tighten as he bit his lip, trying not to get too riled up at the sight of Mickey looking so fucking delicious that he almost can’t help but want to walk right on up to him and devour him right there. Risk scarring the children that were here for life. He couldn’t care less.

“Cause I wanted to be, Fucktwad. Why? You mad?” Ian could see Mickey raising an eyebrow just above the dark rim of his glasses and he smirks, walking over to the towel Mickey laid out and standing beside it, “You better not fucking kick sand on this towel.”

“Hah, right.” Ian huffs in disbelief, “How the fuck are we going to keep sand off the towel when we’re literally surrounded by it?”

“Alright, Smartguy. Haha. Just wipe the bulk of it off before you sit down okay?” Mickey plops down himself, sandals kicked off the towel and mouth pursed, pushing a chuckle from Ian’s lips as he moved to do the same. He makes sure not to step on the towel too much, sitting next to Mickey, their shoulders brushing.

“So, the beach?”

“Ever been?” Mickey asks instead of answering Ian’s inquiry, looking straight ahead at the clear blue waters, the sound of the waves crashing in their ears.

Ian shakes his head, “Not many where we’re from.”

“I-,” Mickey chokes on his words, stopping short abruptly and clearing his throat. He shakes his head and Ian is staring right at him, knees drawn to his chest and his elbows resting on top of them. “I would think about this a lot. While I was in the can.”

“The beach.” Ian mumbles, just to make sure, his eyes tracing Mickey’s profile because the other man has decided to keep the eye contact to a minimum.

“Yeah. And you.” Mickey says, rubbing at the back of his neck, “all I thought about was taking you to a beach. Watching you’re ginger ass burn to a crisp under the sun.”

Ian laughs, “look at the pot hollering at the kettle.”

“Ay, I bronze beautifully.”

“Yeah, I guess we’ll see.”

They grow silent, Mickey finally looking over to catch Ian’s staring. Mickey bites his lip and Ian could tell that its with trepidation, like he’s got something to say- something more than what he’s already gotten out.

“You never visited me.” Mickey says quietly, and his glasses are dark but Ian could tell that he’s not looking at Ian anymore, gaze shifting.

They haven’t talked about this, at all. About the Ian and Mickey of the past and the way they ended what feels like so many moons ago. Ian doesn’t even feel a connection to that person anymore, barely even knows who he was, what he stood for, what his plan was when he ruined Mickey like he did. Certainly he could’ve handled it better, certainly he could’ve found a different way to diffuse the situation so that nobody got hurt. But he couldn’t find a part of him that cared then.

“It was hard. Seeing you behind that glass- not being able to touch you.” Ian replies, feeling like he owed Mickey an explanation. Mickey frowns at him, eyebrows pulling together.

“Did you ever think about me?”

“Always, Mick. There was just- there was so much shit I was dealing with and I didn’t know how to make myself feel okay with it all. I love you. I’ve loved you since I was a stupid kid all those years ago. Falling for the neighborhood thug that always stole from my part-time job.”

Mickey cracks a smile at that, looking down at the floor of sand under them, using his toes into the grains, “I think I might’ve had a crush on you before we actually banged.”

“And you showed that by throwing stolen onion dip at my head?”

“Hey, I could’ve barged into your house with a fucking tire iron.”

They both chuckle with that, going over their past, cycling through memories. They’d been through a lot together, a lot of down downs, where they were nothing more than two scared and horny teenagers that had no idea what they were doing, but there were highs too, hills that came after the valleys, where they loved each other and took care of each other, had each other’s backs. “I’m sorry that I ended it the way I did. That I didn’t stand up for you with Sammy, that everything was just so fucked up for a while.” Ian brings the conversation from before back to focus.

“I’m sorry that I can’t get you out of my head. That I dragged you away from your boyfriend and family, your job. That I know I’m not good for you and that I don’t fucking deserve you but I can’t find it in me to let you go.” Mickey offers back, sighing. He gives Ian a sad smile that draws crevices into his heart.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, Mickey. And if you ever say some dumb shit about not deserving me again, I’ll make use of the fucking tire iron this time, you hear me?”

“Ian-“

“Do you hear me?”

Mickey stops, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth before nodding, “I hear ya, bossy.”

The oceans waves serve as their distraction as they’re tugged back from the heaviness of their lass interaction, pulling their attention away for the time being as they feel electricity jump between where their arms are just barely touching.

“I never thought I’d feel this way. Ever.” Mickey says, speaking over the waves.

“How do you feel?” Ian asks, eyes following their movement, the ebb and flow of nature as it licked at the floor of sand and pulled itself back.

Mickey doesn’t answer right away and Ian waits patiently for his response, hanging off of every second of silence that passes between them, “free. I think.” He offers Ian a wry smile and Ian gives him a full one back, hand reaching up to curl his fingers around the back of Mickey’s warm neck that the sun has been beating on, thumb tracing his jaw.

“You swim?”

Mickey shakes his head, peering up at Ian through his sunglasses, “Terry was more of a ‘let 'em drown’ kinda guy.”

Nodding, Ian gets up, standing by the towel and holding a hand out to Mickey after pulling off his sunglasses and throwing them down with the rest of their stuff.

Mickey hesitates just a second before doing the same thing with his own sunglasses and taking Ian’s proffered hand. Ian counts it as a win when Mickey doesn’t immediately pull back when he’s standing. “Imma teach you,”

Raising an eyebrow at Ian, Mickey looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head, walking down towards the water slowly as Ian walked in front of him, “Don’t worry, MIck. You’re not drowning on my watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Heh heh. I felt absolutely nothing last night and I'm so proud of myself. 
> 
> This is going to be my solace away from the reality that they stripped Mickey away from is so carelessly. 
> 
> Didnt you guys love Shameless' season finale last week? Best finale ever.

**Author's Note:**

> What'd ya think?
> 
> Also. Fuck me- idk how old Ian actually is ATM I haven't watched the show in forever so I lost track so don't crucify me for that lol


End file.
